The Women Under Black Unbrellas
by Jess Brook
Summary: Holmes dips into the homeless network when he requires information, what about Moriarty? A Ficlet from one of his sets of eyes, a working girl in the city of London. Teen for adult themes. Order Of apperence: Jim Moriarty, Female OC, Irene Adler.
1. Chapter 1

"Nice to see you James." My soft voice lilted, obviously filled with false confidence but even that faced with James was a feat. He was only a small man but categorically terrifying, with large black orbs for eyed that seemed to have both the depth of a puddle and an ocean all at once. No, I doubted that anybody was truly confident around him without having major mental health issues. He was power itself and didn't hate reminding you one bit; he owned you and me for that matter. But I had something he wanted and that? That made me semi valuable, a resource to be kept breathing lest my worth increase. Still I didn't doubt that he'd slit my throat himself if he had too, or got bored with me. Who am I kidding, when he got bored with me. I similarly wouldn't so much as flinch at ending him, and that was the way our work had to be: deadly.

"Pleasures all mine Miss Hemsworth." His own voice replied. It was interesting the way he could make the soft Irish tones and intonations of his voice sound as if they're dripping with menace, but he managed it. Somehow I held back the shiver that threatened to rumble down my spine and burn my façade of confidence to little more than ash.

I twisted over to face him in the cramped back seat, ignoring the slightly damp umbrella clutched tightly between my knees.

"What is it that you want from me today then?" Curiosity washed away the slight tone of hatred I hoped to pick up, leaving me sounding hatefully like my desire to please him out weighed anything else. You know the most sickening part? It did outweigh most things on my agenda, I moved anything on my schedule to accommodate him and he knew that. Bastard. I could see that little knowing smirk spread across his lips like a moral threat, because in his case it usually was.

"Anything you know or happen to find out about-" the smaller man dug out an a4 wallet from his case and handed it over to me without even bothering to glance my way. I grabbed it and quickly scanned the names, some instantly remembered and others utterly unknown but one stuck out best of all: Ms. Irene Adler, my former mentor.

It might seem bizarre for a working girl to have a mentor, I suppose it was really but neither of us were what our face value sold. The business was something we did because it was practical and efficient. Why did we do it? People trust the women they sleep with, more so if they pay them and we sold the information they let slip to men like James for more money than you could spend even when you want to. Really I would never have to work again but much like Irene I knew, this game was for life with Moriarty, however short a life happened to be. By the way she was on my list, I took it hers was soon to end. I'd miss her, but not enough to keep anything from him, she wasn't worth my life as well and she's have done just the same. For all my mental strength I knew my face betrayed just a flash of pain way the idea, one that said I might warn her somewhat against get fate, one that he couldn't trust.

Pulling my eyes upwards, exactly as imagined guys eyes bite into me.

"I hope you know better than that Hemsworth." James stated, cold danger burning in his words that would curdle milk.

Raising a boldly irritating eye brow I spoke.

"Better than what, Moriarty?" I nearly spat, posting my words carefully with his surname much as he did.

"Better than to sign your own death warrant, my dear." darkness culled the smirk that had grown in arrogance across my lips, fading everything else to black. Not often but periodically I could forget how close to dead I am simply being in his presence, that's not even close to a safe way to behave around him, not that there is one.

Composing myself carefully I canted my head in his direction.

"Look at where I'm sat James, I couldn't be here if I was concerned about the worth of my life" I turned back forcing my eyes dead to the front and pushing the emotion back behind them where it wouldn't show.

"However you can consider me an open book in regards to Irene." Cold, detached, perfect.

It's a curious respect for life you have in this line of work, never expecting to see to see the next dawn and taking time away from other people. You become very aware of exactly what you're willing to sell to stay alive: best friends, family, your body, morals and beliefs they're all optional and you can certainly say goodbye to your soul. I've more scars emotional and otherwise than I dare count, but I'm still breathing so I've won the game so far. I'm not kidding when I say I don't expect to see tomorrow, it was the first thing I was ever taught about the occupation: to succeed throu need to understand that you're a beautiful toy to them both dead or alive and equally valuable in either state. If James wants me alive everybody on that list would want me dead, which indeed meant, if she caught even the slightest wind if it, her. If Irene Adler knew I was coming for her, I'd be dead already.

For a long moment he didn't utter a word, let my stew fire a moment before in his soft voice that contained equal quantities of knowing and condescending he started simply "I don't doubt it Miss Hemsworth."

Author's Notes:

Why hello again! I hope you enjoyed it, I'm afraid it's short and probably only a oneshot/flash fictionette unless people are interested in hearing more from it otherwise my bus stop written rambling is over for this one. Anyway, let me know, I love critiques and reviews .


	2. Chapter 2

I slid out of the car into what appeared to be a similar street to where I'd entered it little under an hour ago. Carefully I pushed my umbrella up in rudimentary defence against the beating rain. The darkness of the evening didn't intimidate me anymore, much the contrary in fact, the dusky light was a cloak that enrobed and hid me from all manner of danger. No, alone in the shadows was more often than not the safest place for me, she'd said that, all those years ago. Irene, well I called her that I couldn't tell you if that were indeed her name though it's bet not. It was beyond me how she'd finally managed to anger the criminal; honestly she did considerably better a job than the others I knew, though I didn't know many.

Walking off in what my gut told me was the vague direction of somewhere I could grab a taxi I couldn't help the burning in my heart. Some tiny little part of me held a sentimentality over her and wanted to drop a hint, to let her know he was coming, but no. I knew butter than to as James stated sign my own death warrant, as much as that tiny glimmer of affection would have me believe.

Pulling the sides of my coat together I trudged on, banishing dark thoughts of who'd I am ruining. Lowering the umbrella was a twofold objective, it did its usual task of concealing my face from curious eyes suitably, and the way it kept the battering weather from my face was an equal blessing. People often think it odd, the way even in the shadows I tend to hide my visage but it becomes apparent that when people watch you, being too careful is no longer quite possible. People had eyes and cameras everywhere, I'm living proof being a set of those eyes but everybody whom would like to see James Moriarty dead would equally love to watch me scream his name and not in the pleasant sense. This was forgetting the people that just want me dead; funnily enough women like me acquire enemies in vast numbers. When you sell secrets it usually traces back to you and the anger tends to follow as well, so I always watched, just in case. Trust was a word I understood but found, distain worthy to say the least, you find yourself getting like that, used to scare me. I used to have friends, family and loved ones but to keep them close was only going to result in the death of us, so I loved and I left. Never ever well I be selfish enough to feel anything like regret over it, my friendship should have killed them and I'm certainly not worth death.

Not to say I haven't already killed a number of them, people I've met that I've sold on for a brown paper envelope full of cash and three chance of feeling yet another dawn. Will it reach a point whether I go, I'd rather die, and willingly dance that last waltz, I'd like to think so. But I doubt it. I've sold my father, my fiancee. There isn't a lot further to fall when you've touched rock bottom, realistically three only solace worthy thing I have is that it still hurts to think about them, that I still have a soul.

A soul that I might add hated the rain with a passion. It didn't matter whether I happened to be dressed to please a particular client, or James for that matter, nothing I owned properly defended me from the biting rain. Neither the soft cotton weaver of the cardigans or the figure hugging leather jackets did anything to abjure the weather. No, it was something that as far as England went, call girl and business woman alike could frown equally on. The blood curdling cold and the skin boiling heat did little for the well-dressed woman, let alone the snow and ice, you can forget that.

you simply became accustom to such discomforts, which on the scale of things were tiny. Truly nothing like spending 10 minutes with Moriarty, I would take a life time in icy wares rather than an hour in his presence if I knew what was healthy for me, however the creature of vanity I am means I have a predisposition to put myself around him no matter the risks.

Of all things in my life I pride myself on my skills of anonymity: the umbrella, ordinary facade. So why it's it that I didn't tip the edge of my umbrella up to see the black streaks, that looking so ordinary prevented me from a good healthy look around lest it be out of character. No, foolish, stupid. My protective blanket of darkness, my far away mind and that shield against eyes my umbrella trying to get me either killed it maimed as they approached entirely unnoticed despite the water they must be splashing in their courses. In fact, I must have been obvious to so many clues.

This all caught up to my mind the moment I felt the clutch of finger tips encircle my forearm. Not a moment later I turned, dripping my umbrella of course using the arm caught as a pivot and cracked one of the men dressed in black. However I similarly took a fist to the abdomen, sending me to double over. That was it, I wasn't a fighter and the moment I buckled over my wrists were clinched behind me by a strong hand and I was led wordlessly to a white van whose licence plate sent a full blown shudder vibrating coldly down my spine.

Authors note: Thank you, thank you, thank you for the story watches and words of encouragement! Really makes my day when I know somebody else actually likes my writing, and I have to apologize for the lack of length once more I'm afraid: Blame 5 A levels!

More to come hold on tight!


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